I’m at that in between stage, where one minute I think I have all my sh*t together and the next I start to get anxious about everything that I haven’t done in preparation for Peanut’s arrival. I had that moment of anxiety last night at my prenatal yoga class, you know the one I wrote about feeling all zenned out? Yah, well zen left the building last night.
As I sat down on my yoga mat all I could hear around me were women telling each other all the latest and greatest buys, finds, DIY creations, and tips from their prenatal classes. Here were some of the conversations floating around,
“Did you book your private room in the hospital?”
“We registered for baby gifts last night.”
“Can you believe what she told us at prenatal class last week?”
“I thought I was fine with child birth until I saw that video.”
These statements might seem small to the average listener but here is what was going through my mind,
WHAT? A frickin’ private room? How do I sign up for that? Am I too late to get a private room? What if I have to share with some other person and my baby is screaming their lungs out all night keeping the patient awake? Oh crap, maybe I should have registered for the baby shower? What did SHE say in prenatal class last week? Did we wait too long to sign up for the classes? Child birth… for the love of GOD I haven’t even read that chapter in the book yet.
Yes, truly that was exactly was going through my mind pre-yoga and I tried so hard to get those thoughts out, but I couldn’t. I sat there worrying that somehow I haven’t done enough in preparation or maybe I have done the wrong things.
But then I reminded myself of my coping strategy. I haven’t actually told anyone what my coping strategy is, because it actually sounds ridiculous. It worked when Mom, Emily, and I walked our tails off in San Francisco and I would come home worried and anxious that 3-4 hours a day of walking might be a bit too much, wondering why Peanut wasn’t kicking as much as usual (most likely, PURE exhaustion).
So here it goes,
I literally envision myself as a pregnant woman in the 1800s. As this woman in the 1800s I have to work the fields with my husband, pregnant or not. I lift heavy bails of hay, I work my butt off to make sure everything is tilled before sundown and then I put a warm meal on the table. (This worked well for San Fran, when I thought of women in the 1800s who may have had to walk West when their husbands were searching for gold).
Are you still with me, or have I gone completely insane?
So last night I went to my 1800s personality and thought about the lack of information I would have been privy to as a pregnant woman in that era. I wouldn’t have been able to ask for a private room, I would have had NO clue what child-birth was actually going to be like, I wouldn’t have had a bazillion stroller choices or baby carriers to choose from, and I wouldn’t’ have had the opportunity to register for baby gifts online. And yet, most of these women raised children. They gave birth (not even going to go into their level of pain here), produced healthy children, and did what they had to do.
For some reason this gives me complete ease. Perhaps it is knowing that although I am completely grateful for the multitude of information coming my way, I also feel comforted by the fact that information wasn’t always as readily accessible throughout the ages and …somehow …and ….someway it all worked out.